I listen to music.
I listen to a lot of music.
I listen to a lot of music when I write.
Surprising, yes. Lots of folks can't write to music. I've always had some kind of soundtrack going on in the background. I like competing rhythms. Somehow the rhythm and melody of external music sculpts the mess of images that's flashing through my brain.
Anyway, this group is who I primarily listened to when I composed a lot of the poems for Furious Lullaby:
Now, I'm listening to a lot of folk/alt-country stuff. Perhaps I'm mining for narratives. Lately, I've been listening to singer-songwriter types. You know, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and some of the more recent folks like Colin Meloy of The Decemberists and Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes.
End of the quarter--I've got a class this Friday, then Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Whew. I'm beat.
What's also been stressful is that the little guy has been waking up almost every two hours. Meredith and I are sleep deprived.
Luckily my parents will be here on Saturday.
My real current spin is this:
10 hours ago